The League of Dragonborn
by thesassenach
Summary: As dragons continue to threaten the land, the Greybeards uncover a new prophecy stating that not one, but two Dragonborn heroes will rise to save the whole of Skyrim. Now, Sofja and Freja, along with Vilkas and Brynjolf, must learn to overcome their differences in order to defeat the greatest evil Skryim has ever known: Alduin, and the return of the dragons.
1. The Dragon and the Wolf

**The League of Dragonborn**

 **Chapter One: The Dragon and the Wolf**

* * *

 _Hey all! Welcome to the League of Dragonborn, a sequel to both my previous stories, The Dragon Among the Wolves and A Tale of Two Nightingales. This is just a preview for the time being, since A Tale of Two Nightingales is still in the process of being finished. Still, I thought it would be fun to offer you guys a taste of what's to come. -Sass_

 _P.S. Read at your own pleasure, but obviously it will make more sense/be more enjoyable if you've finished my first two stories!_

* * *

"So you don't want to go anymore?" Sofja asked in an even tone. Vilkas almost wouldn't have been able to tell that she was angry, except for the fact that her eyebrow twitched slightly. It was over a month ago that she'd become the newest Harbinger, and in that time, she'd been learning to control her temper—although her temper, though prodigious, was no match for Vilkas'. He, too, was learning to be more controlled, especially now that things had calmed down, and he and Sofja together felt... Well, it seemed naive, or premature even, to say _happy._ Vilkas could hardly admit it to himself, and yet, it was true.

"I do want to go... I just don't want to go _now,_ " Vilkas clarified, half a smirk on his tan face as he leaned against the wall next to the doorway of their quarters. They weren't officially _their_ quarters, since they were officially the Harbinger's quarters, but everyone knew and seemed to approve of Sofja and Vilkas' relationship, and so he didn't bother trying to be discreet about sharing them with Sofja. After all, he and Sofja were promised to one another.

"You don't even have time to go, do you?" Vilkas questioned quickly, watching as Sofja threw a pile of clothing into a rucksack. "I mean between your meeting with the Greybeards, your having to travel to Riften, it's understandable that—"

Sofja looked up suddenly, her pale eyes glaring at Vilkas as she chucked the rucksack to the ground. It hit with a dull thud. "This is not about me, this is about you. This is about being free of the blood, and it's important to you, which means it's important to me. Listen," she continued, a little more gently, "I know you're afraid of who you think you'll be without it, but the man I love has nothing to do with the wolf's blood." Freja sighed, regaining her composure. Moving away from the bed, Sofja walked towards Vilkas, reaching up to caress his stubbled cheeks. Her voice was soft and even. "And I don't want you to keep putting this off because of me."

A smirk spread across Vilkas lips as he pressed them down against hers with feathery lightness. His calloused fingers wove their way into Sofja's delicate red hair almost without him realizing it; Vilkas loved the feeling of her, and his fingers somehow always managed to become entwined in her fiery locks if they stood close enough. "I know. But you're the Harbinger of us all, now. You have a duty to all of us, and to Whiterun, not just me, even if I will one day be your husband. I told you that Farkas could accompany me."

The feeling of Vilkas' kiss sent shivers down Sofja's spine, and she welcomed it happily. Her arms snaked around his neck as she reluctantly pulled away from his lips, sighing. "I know, but..." Sofja paused, gathering her thoughts. "Listen. After I speak with the Greybeards, we will go to the tomb of Ysgramor and free you of the blood. It's too important to put off any longer than that. Riften can wait."

Vilkas nodded, smiling. "Fine, my love. As you wish." Planting a kiss on top of her head, the tall, burly Companion pulled away from her and turned towards the door. "I'm going to go train in the yard with Farkas. I'll see you later."

Sofja smiled as she walked back towards the bed, determined to finish her packing. "See you then, my wolf."

* * *

Vilkas kept the smile plastered on his face just long enough to get into the hallway, where Aela and Farkas were waiting. "Well?" She asked impatiently, her auburn hair tucked behind her ears. "Did you tell her?"

Farkas folded his arms, chuckling. "Why do you pretend like you weren't eavesdropping? It's not like you've gotten rid of the blood and can't hear through walls anymore. He didn't tell her."

Vilkas snarled at his brother, and motioned for the two of them to follow him upstairs, where they were out of Sofja's earshot. "No, I didn't mention it. Why does she need to know that the dragons have almost completely invaded the southeast? Why does it have to be her burden to bear? It's hard enough for her to have to learn to be the Harbinger of the Companions. I don't see how she can be the Dragonborn savior as well," Vilkas said stubbornly.

"Well, unfortunately for you, Vilkas," Aela snapped as they trudged up the stairs, "none of that is up to you. Aren't you the one who always encouraged her to be some sort of hero? The fact is, she's both the Harbinger and the Dragonborn. And right now, things are worse than ever. There have been ten dragon sightings here in the last week alone. Reports of crops destroyed, livestock burnt to a crisp... And the Jarl has received more missing person reports than ever. There's talk that the dragons are swooping down and just... carrying people clean away."

"It's true, brother. And the Greybeards have sent two letters every week this month, requesting Sofja's presence on their big, dumb mountain."

Vilkas rubbed his temples, frustrated by how frustrated he felt this early in the day. Was it too early to start drinking mead? "Well, she's finally going to see them, to figure out what this whole 'League of Dragonborn' business is. Then she has to go to Riften to meet some woman, although they Greybeards have managed to be incredibly vague despite the ridiculous amount of letters they've sent. All they've revealed is that this woman in Riften also apparently has Dragonborn powers. They want Sofja to meet her, to see if they can work together to help the cities come up with some sort of defensive plan."

"Can there be more than one Dragonborn?" Farkas asked simply.

Aela scoffed. "No, you imbecile. That's the whole point of the Dragonborn. There's only one every few centuries. I hope Sofja didn't buy that crap," the Huntress remarked decidedly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"She's certainly skeptical," Vilkas replied. "The Greybeards can't be lying, but still... Something strange is going on here. Anyway, it's no matter. After Sofja returns from the Greybeards, she's going to postpone the trip to Riften so I can finally purge the wolf blood from my veins, with her by my side." Just saying the words, Vilkas stood a bit taller. The moment he had been waiting for since before Kodlak's death was drawing near.

Aela simply rolled her eyes. "Good for you, pup. Can't wait to see how much weaker you'll become."

Farkas slapped Vilkas on the back a little harder than Vilkas would've liked, and leaned towards him, chuckling. "Well Sofja's gotten rid of the blood, and she's still strong, isn't that right brother? Strong enough to keep up with you in bed every night, at least. It's bad enough having to hear you two through the walls every night... They're as thin as paper." With that remark, Farkas and Aela began laughing wildly, while Vilkas' blood began to boil. He grabbed the scruff of Farkas' neck and furrowed his brows. "Hush up, before I skin you alive and wear it as a pelt. Both of you," Vilkas warned, though a small smirk tugged at his lips.

"Well, either way brother. I'm sure it'll all get sorted out. I mean, Sofja already died once, so she should be able to deal with everything else, right?"

"I suppose so," Vilkas agreed. Strangely, that was a comforting thought.

"Who's this woman in Riften? Anyone we should know?" Aela asked curiously.

Vilkas shook his head, sighing with annoyance. "No. All the Greybeards said in their letter was that she's a thief, or some such lowlife. Her name is 'Freja'."


	2. Change of Plans

The League of Dragonborn

Chapter Two: Change of Plans

 _Don't worry friends, I haven't forgotten you!_

* * *

Brynjolf stumbled out of his cot, his head pounding with a hangover he'd earned ferociously the night before. He knew he'd had a life before Freja—he just couldn't remember how it functioned. The sound of shrieking woke him from his dreamless slumber, and he slowly threw on clothes as he exited his quarters, searching for Delvin.

"What in the name—" He began, scratching his reddish beard.

"Dragons. Three of them, attacking from above. Half of us think we need to evacuate everyone into the Ratway tunnels, while the other half just want to leave the people up there to burn."

"This isn't some sort of joke, is it?" Brynjolf said angrily. It had only been a few days since Freja had left without a trace, leaving only two notes as a hint of why she'd gone. And he wasn't sure he wanted to follow her. The woman disappeared once before, and she had a good reason to do so. Maybe now, she had a good reason, too. Only Brynjolf was tired of searching, and tired of wondering, and tired of hoping. And right now, it seemed that not just he, but the whole of Riften, had bigger problems. Problems she could've been helping with, were she here now.

"'Fraid not. But Bryn-"

"Of course we're bringing everyone down into the tunnels," Brynjolf scoffed, turning back towards his quarters to suit up in his Nightingale armor. "No question. Get Vex and head up to Honorhall. The children come down first. Then move to the temple, to the sick and injured. I'll round up the others and tell them what to do."

"Aye," Delvin said, a hint of a smile on his lips. "As you say, Guildmaster."

Brynjolf turned to chide him, but Delvin was gone before he could say a word. He didn't like being called 'guildmaster' just yet; the word didn't fit yet.

* * *

In fifteen minutes, Brynjolf was dressed, armed, and standing in the center of the Ratway surrounded by his associates. "We're thieves, but we still have spines. Right now, our city's in danger."

"Our city?" Tonilia said haughtily. "The same city who views us as rats, who fears us and spits at us as we pass by?"

"Well, it's the nature of our trade, what do you expect?" Brynjolf said delicately. They were thieves, after all. Surely they didn't owe Riften a thing, but it seemed a bit drab to let everyone die above their heads while they sat safely underground. "But that shouldn't matter right now. What matters—"

Dirge growled angrily, bored and irritated by all the talking. "Enough! It's simple. Who are we gonna steal from if everyone's burnt to a crisp, hm?" The entire room fell silent.

It was the smartest thing Dirge had ever said.

In ten minutes, everyone (Tonilia included, despite her distaste for Brynjolf after his fast rejection of her in favor of Freja) stood at the ready, awaiting orders. They divided into groups, and spread throughout the town, assisting anyone the came across, but especially the poor and helpless who were ignored by the Riften Guards.

Brynjolf moved up to the surface alone, unsure of what he would find. He was amazed, as he entered into the dull, colorless afternoon, that his ears were greeted with cries and shrieks. The citizens of Riften, and even some of the guards, were running this way and that, holding what little belongings they had, gripped by panic.

The children were still filing out of the orphanage with some assistance from the thieves when a greenish dragon suddenly swooped down, shooting fire at the roof of the building and exploding it into flames. Brynjolf abruptly began sprinting in that direction, though it was unclear what exactly he could do when faced with a dragon. The only other time he'd encountered one was with Freja, and then, they only ran.

He didn't have to worry long, because suddenly a shout rang through the town, the bones of every human there vibrating suddenly. " _Fus roh dah!"_

Turning to his right, his eyes wide, Brynjolf searched for Freja. However, when he spotted the source of the shout, he realized it wasn't her, but a different woman—shorter, with red hair. _The other dragonborn, here for Freja?_ Behind her stood a man with wolf armor, dark, shaggy locks and black eyes to match. He didn't know them, but in that moment, they were fighting the dragon off and helping the children escape to the Ratway, so that was enough for him.

He ran towards them, grabbing the bow and arrows he'd luckily remembered to bring with him. The man in the wolf armor did the same, though a large, impressive sword hung at his side. _Swords are apparently useless; will remember that for next time._ If there was a next time.

"It'll be back for another round," the redhead said, looking at her companion, then towards Brynjolf. "If you can both time your shots, aiming for its eyes, nose, and neck, we can do maximum damage. Are you with me?"

Bryn nodded at them. The woman was right; suddenly, a shriek filled the skies, and from the distance, the same green dragon came zooming towards them.

"Now!" She screamed as it drew closer. Quickly, Brynjolf and the other man raised their bows, pelting one arrow after another at the beasts head. They pierced its scaly skin, causing the dragon to cry out, when suddenly the air was filled with another shout, this one Brynjolf couldn't quite make out. Through the air, sharp ice pellets flew and froze along the creatures neck, stabbing and breaking its scales. It screamed again, retreating backwards again towards the mountains, this time for good.

"That seemed too easy," the dark-haired man said.

"They weren't here to destroy Riften," the freckled woman with light eyes said carefully. "They were looking for something."

Brynjolf rolled his eyes, knowing much more than he felt like revealing in that moment. If the man and women had come for Freja, they would be sorely disappointed, and Bryn knew they would find him eventually. Right now, however, he was more worried about assessing the damages, injuries, and ruined homes than chatting with another dragonborn and her protector about the Skyrim's destiny. Turning on his heel, Bryn ran in the direction of Delvin, not even leaving his battle companions his name.

* * *

Night had fallen, and things in Riften had steadily calmed down. Sofja was relieved; it meant she and Vilkas could finally focus on the task at hand—the reason they were in Riften in the first place. Sofja hadn't even spoken to the Greybeards before attempting to seek out Freja; based on the severity of recent events, she thought it best just to find Freja and bring her back to High Hrothgar.

"We're looking for a woman," Sofja said evenly, trying to keep her tone quiet as she leaned against the Bee and Barb's bar. She was constantly suspicious—especially in a town like Riften, where dishonesty, spying, and thieving were the three main areas of business. Nine knew that she'd seen her share of uncomfortable situations, but standing at the bar of the Bee and Barb, Sofja felt immensely on edge; perhaps it had something to do with the dragon attack they'd witnessed earlier. Still, it seemed incredible to her that after the dragons left, the town went right back to their dishonest wheeling and dealing. If it had been Whiterun, the Jarl would have been preparing for another attack, creating escape plans and storing rations for the citizens.

Yet now, Sofja stood in the Bee and Barb, and everyone was drinking, whoring and carrying on as if the whole thing hadn't happened. And she still had her mission.

"Yeah?" Keerava said, not even bothering to look up from the mug she was drying. "You're going to have to be more specific than that. A lot of women live here."

Sofja sighed gently, her patience extending for miles—until Vilkas cut in. Unlike Sofja, his patience was much more brittle, and it was beginning to crack, especially after the stress of the afternoon. The blood was boiling in his veins, and he wanted nothing more than to be home with Sofja in Whiterun, a city infinitely more respectable than the filth of Riften. _How did the dragons know we'd be coming?_

"We're not done yet," Vilkas said quickly. "A thief. Thin, with blonde hair, almost white. Sharp, attractive features, short."

At these words, Keerava looked up, the expression on her face softening. "Ah, you must be talking about my dear Freja!"

Sofja and Vilkas shot each other a quick, wordless look. _Bingo._

"Of course! Miss Freja was a frequent patron. A few months back, she was with us here at the Bee and Barb."

"But not anymore?" Sofja asked anxiously.

"'Fraid not," Keerava replied, organizing the mugs behind the bar. "For a while, she was running around with the Thieves Guild, and especially that tall redheaded man in the corner over there." The Argonian pointed to a table across the tavern, pushed far against the wall. There sat a thick, muscled man with red hair and a goatee. He seemed to be enamored with a mug of mead. "Brynjolf, his name is. Not sure why I still allow him in here, the Nine know he's swindled me enough times." Keerava trailed off for a moment, her mind seeming to drift back into the past. "Still, I was taken by his love for her. Reminds me of me and my man."

Sofja and Vilkas looked at each other quickly. _It's the same man from earlier,_ Sofja thought. Vilkas nodded, as if he could read her thoughts. _The one who helped us fight off the dragon._

Vilkas' ears perked up. "So they have some sort of relationship?" He asked quickly. "This Brynjolf will know how we can get in touch with her?"

Keerava chuckled, shaking her head a little. "I know they did. But judging by the way he's drowning himself in mead tonight, I'd say things have changed. Still, you're welcome to try. Usually, he's quite a friendly sort."

Vilkas and Sofja nodded in thanks to the barkeep before silently making their way over to Brynjolf's table.

"May we—" Sofja began to ask politely, before Vilkas plopped down directly across from Brynjolf, taking Sofja by the arm and forcing her to sit as well.

"Hello again. We're looking for Freja," Vilkas said quickly, his dark eyes boring into Brynjolf.

Sofja rolled her eyes. _This is the last time I ever take him on a delicate mission for the Greybeards._

"Ah, so you're Sofja, then? My, my, our world certainly is a small one, isn't it lass." Brynjolf said suddenly, looking up at her, taking in her honeyed-red hair and clear eyes. She was something like a mirror image of him, with all the red and the barely-visible freckles that spread over her neck and arms. A striking image at that, and yet not to his taste. He preferred his women a blank palette, to be colored instead by passion, sarcasm and wit. Blonde hair, light eyes. _Freja._ He completely ignored Vilkas.

"How did you know that?" Sofja asked suspiciously.

"Because the Greybeards warned Freja that you were coming. And it's what caused her to run."

"Run?" Vilkas asked with alarm. "You mean she heard the Greybeards needed her help and she took off?"

Brynjolf took a long sip of mead, slamming it down on the table in front of him when he'd had his fill—at least for the moment. "Aye." He spoke slowly, finally acknowledging Vilkas' presence. "She may be Dragonborn, lass, but she's no hero. At least not the kind of hero you're probably hoping for."

"And you have no idea where we can find her? Obviously, after what we saw today, you know finding her is important." Sofja asked desperately.

Brynjolf was slow to reply, lifting the mug of mead to his mouth again—until Vilkas interrupted him, forcefully grabbing his wrist and guiding the mug of mead back down to the table.

"She asked you a question. Not just important—a matter of life and death." He paused, the Companion's dark eyes flashing. "For the whole of Skyrim."

Brynjolf scoffed with disdain; it was rather unlike him to act so disrespectfully, and yet he couldn't help it. "And who are you supposed to be, her bodyguard?"

Vilkas grinded his teeth. "I'm her partner. And she doesn't need a bodyguard. The woman sitting before you is the Harbinger of the Companions. Show some respect."

Freja swallowed hard. _Still sounds strange to hear it out loud,_ she thought.

A smile twitched onto Brynjolf's face, and he noticed the uneasy look in Sofja's eyes. "Harbinger of the Companions? Well, isn't that interesting. Good for you. I recently received a promotion in my own line of work," he said, chuckling just for a moment. "Anyway, you'll need skills if you're going to take Freja alive and try to convince her to join you. She's a fierce fighter, prone to playing dirty, and her every step is blessed by the daedric prince Nocturnal. Your task isn't easy." He took a long swig of mead now that Vilkas had released the grip on his forearm.

"And no," he continued, shooting a glare at Vilkas. "I don't know where she is. I have some ideas, but no true knowledge. I know what's at stake, I need no reminders, lad. For what purpose is she joining you, anyway?"

"The Greybeards want to speak to both of us. They think there's a way to dispatch this dragon threat... Once and for all. So..." Sofja paused, swallowing hard. "You'll help us? Skills we have, but we could use the help of someone who knows her," she offered hopefully, her eyes pleading.

Brynjolf opened his mouth to say no. He _wanted_ to say no. And yet... There was something in her eyes. It was making it incredibly difficult. Not to mention, the life of everyone he'd ever known was on the line, if the dragon threat was as dire as they made it sound.

"I don't know if my presence would help the situation. She left me without telling me where she went or why, only that she had to take care of something. She may not want to see me."

"Despite that, as I said before, we have bigger things at stake," Vilkas added with an air of annoyance in his gravelly voice. "It's now or never; what say you? We don't have time to waste."

Brynjolf scratched his beard, mulling over the possibilities, when suddenly, he raised his mug to them, smirking. "Aye, lass and lad, I'll help. And I may not know where she is, but I think I know where to ask. She's not the only one blessed by a daedric prince. To Nocturnal we go."

And with that, their partnership had been formed: the wolf, the fox, and the thief.


	3. Queen of Murk, Empress of Shadow

The League of Dragonborn

Chapter Two: Queen of Murk

 _Another installment for my lovely readers!_

* * *

"SHOW YOURSELF, OR I SWEAR I'LL END IT!"

The violent, desperate threat clung to the musty air, bouncing off of the stone walls and spreading down through the caverns of Nightingale Hall. For nearly three days, Freja had spent every waking moment in Nocturnal's chamber, the antechamber, outside on the cliff, the hallways in between, and anywhere else she could think of trying to speak with the daedric prince.

Now, Freja stood gasping, holding a jagged, rusty knife to her own throat. Her eyes darted around in the darkness. All she wanted was for the prince to make a new deal that would release her and Brynjolf from their bonds of earthly servitude. Every time Freja thought about the promise she made—that foolish, stupid promise binding her and Brynjolf to Nocturnal in life—her brain burned and her body tensed up. She had to find a way to fix this; it was the first step to making everything right. She just had to get Nocturnal to speak with her.

Biting her lip, Freja pressed the sharp, rusted edge of the knife further against her throat, pricking herself. She could feel just a drop of warm, wet blood drip down towards her collarbone. "My servitude to you will mean nothing if I'm dead," she whispered. Of course Freja didn't want to shove a dagger in her own neck; however, despite everything she'd been through in the past, she'd never felt more desperate in her entire life.

"Now, now, my child," a voice suddenly bellowed, winding its way through the darkness. "Let's not be hasty, hm?"

Freja gasped, laughing breathlessly. _Finally._ Blinking, Freja was suddenly transported to a grassy field, covered in purple trees and flowers. Nocturnal had a knack for showing off. _Great,_ Freja thought, rolling her eyes, _another one of Nocturnal's little dreamscapes._

"I want to make a new deal," Freja bellowed, looking around to catch a glimpse of Nocturnal. Turning on her heels, she saw the daedric prince reclining on a deep purple sofa, her eyes closed as she erotically lowered a bunch of grapes between her full, dark lips. Freja always felt immediately and extremely unsettled during her little encounters with Nocturnal; she was sublimely beautiful and terrifying all at once.

"You've made that abundantly clear, Freja. Come closer," she beckoned, sitting up slightly. "Sit." Snapping her fingers, a black velvet chair suddenly appeared a few feet in front of the daedra. Freja, still gripping the dagger in her hand, trudged forward.

"I'm displeased with you, Freja," Nocturnal sighed, her grayish skin looking so soft in the sunlight. "We had a deal, and it was binding. This, you know."

"That deal with a load of troll dung, and that's what _you_ know," Freja yelled back, gritting her teeth. Nocturnal merely raised an eyebrow before picking at the ends of her hair, as if she were utterly bored.

"Do I? You traded your service, and that of your lover, in exchange for his life. He's alive—"

"And he would've lived anyway," Freja spat, her thin fingers digging into the velvet arms of the chair where she sat. "He's blessed as one of your agents. Surely you knew the blessing he chose. He's not easily injured."

"It is not for me to amend the deals based on your best interest, only mine," Nocturnal whispered, her eyes gleaming. She stared at the human. Freja was so young, but on her beautiful, pale face was the wisdom of a much older woman. A woman who had seen pain over and over again. It delighted Nocturnal. "My dear, you don't look well. You need rest. You have an air of desperation about you that I find… Unsettling."

"And you need to agree to a new deal, Nocturnal."

"I'll agree to a new deal when you offer me something better than what I already have."

Freja bit her lip, her eyes falling shut. She'd thought about this since the moment Brynjolf came back to her. And right now, there only seemed to be one thing that would fix this—if Freja offered herself back to Nocturnal as a servant both in this life _and_ the afterlife.

"Fine, I offer—" she began, brushing her light blonde hair behind her ear. Nocturnal interrupted.

"I want your life, as well as your afterlife. You will be guildmaster, and you will become my human right hand. As for—" Suddenly, Nocturnal sat up, her eyes widening with a fury Freja had never known before.

"How dare...that imbecile bring them…" Nocturnal's voice quaked, and Freja's mouth fell open; although Nocturnal looked exactly as she always looked, Freja swore something was different...that her hair had turned to snakes, her eyes to slits, her mouth to fangs…

"Freja!"

Blinking again, Freja found herself suddenly huddled on the ground of the Nightingale's special chamber. Stumbling to her feet, she turned around and saw him. It was Brynjolf, followed by a small, red-headed woman and a black-haired man.

"Bryn…" She whispered weakly. "How did you know…"

"I didn't," he answered quickly, half-running, half-walking towards her. "I came to see Nocturnal."

Brynjolf reached for Freja, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Her eyes never left the forms of the two strangers standing at the doorway of the chamber. "They can't be here," Freja whispered up to him. Bryn nodded, turning back towards his new companions.

"A moment of privacy, please, Sofja and Vilkas?" Brynjolf muttered quickly, his eyes pleading. Vilkas looked as if he wanted to punch something, but Sofja simply nodded, dragging him from the room and shutting the door behind them. They stood awkwardly in the antechamber.

"This is a joke, right?" Vilkas asked, running his calloused hands through his dark hair.

"Vilkas, I know a lot is at stake, but we have to have patience," Sofja replied, biting her lip.

"There are dragons out there destroying everything, taking out villages, people disappearing, and we have to wait out here while they...what...fight about their relationship problems?"

Sofja sighed, walking towards Vilkas and letting her fingers run down his cheek. "I know you want to help, and I know you see the bigger picture here. But we won't have a chance if Freja doesn't join us. I can't do this alone—" Sofja caught herself, clearing her throat, " _we_ can't do this alone. We can't force her to help us. So let's just let Brynjolf talk to her, okay?"

* * *

Brynjolf and Freja stood a few feet away from each other. Her eyes were on the ground, but his were on her.

"You've got to stop running away, lass," Brynjolf said finally, sighing.

"How many times do I have to explain that I had no choice—" Freja began.

"Don't try that drivel on me, lass. We all have a choice, in every path we take. And I don't fault you for helping Karliah," his green eyes gleamed as he spoke, fixed on her form at every moment. Freja couldn't sit still, and so she continued walking back and forth. Bryn remained still as ever, leaning on the stone altar behind him. "I do fault you for doing what you do best—shutting me out. For turning inwards, and isolating yourself from the people who care about you most. When things get hard, you disappear. Up until that moment, I saw the real you. And after that, I've hardly recognized you. Only bits and pieces. Why did you run this time?"

Freja finally stopped moving, turning to face Brynjolf. The color drained from her face, and she balled her fists up so tightly, she felt as if her fingers were going to crack. A silence stretched between them, until finally, Freja spoke. The young blonde shrugged nonchalantly, her gaze falling to the floor.

"What do you want me to say?" Her tone was that of boredom, though inside, she felt shattered. "Who the hell are those people out there?"

"Dammit, the woman's the other Dragonborn. Do you know that dragons attacked Riften the other day? Thankfully only a few people were hurt, but there are more and more sightings everyday. Something's shifted," Brynjolf bellowed, clenching his jaw. "And when you got that note from the Greybeard's you ran! I'm sorry, but you have a responsibility to the people of Skyrim, and to yourself, and to me… And you receive a letter telling you to expect possibly the only other person in the world who can understand you," Brynjolf pointed to the door, "that woman out there, and you run? Because you say you have something better to do? What could that possibly be, huh?" Brynjolf was almost yelling at the top of his lungs now. Freja felt so small, and felt his disappointment so acutely. "Please, tell me!"

"I…" She trailed off, crossing her arms against her chest, still unable to meet his gaze. If there was ever a time to tell him about what actually transpired with Nocturnal after Mercer's defeat, now would be it.

Brynjolf sucked in a deep breath of air, holding it captive in his chest for a moment, before letting it escape through his nose. "I know what you've been through, but right now—"

"You don't know," she whispered, finally looking up at him. "I watched as Karliah fell to her death—and _I_ was the one who let her go. I watched the light leave your eyes—and _I_ was the one who shoved the blade in your gut," Freja's tone grew louder and more uneven with every passing word. "It doesn't matter that you came back on some technicality, on some foolish parlor trick of Nocturnal's. Seeing things like that? They change you. And you know what the worst part is? I made a deal… I made a deal with Nocturnal to save your life, and she tricked me."

Brynjolf furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean, lass?"

Freja shuddered, feeling the weight of her secret falling over her. "I thought you were gone… And so, to get you back, I told her that we would serve her every day of our waking lives. But, it turns out that you were going to be fine. I came here to fix it, because I sold us both, and I've ruined everything."

The tall, redheaded man just stared at Freja wordlessly for a few moments until he could gather his thoughts. His eyes softening, he opened his mouth to speak, when suddenly, the door to the chamber burst open.

"Enough!" It was Vilkas. "We have to face Alduin, the most powerful dragon who's ever lived, who's threatening the life of everyone we've ever known, bringing back an entire legion of deadly dragons, and what, you're in here kissing and making up?"

As Sofja stepped inside behind Vilkas, the chamber door suddenly slammed shut, and the stone walls of the room began shaking.

"How...dare...you….." A smooth, silky voice said gently. The words didn't match the tone of voice. The room seemed to be darker, when suddenly every candle burst to flame. Towards the front of the room, Nocturnal sat on the stone altar near Brynjolf. This time, there were no tricks, no dreamscapes, no velvet—only her, her smooth legs crossed beneath a silky, violet dress, eyes burning.

Brynjolf moved to open his mouth, but Nocturnal simply raised a hand to him. "You bring outsiders to my chamber, and you insult me by raising your voice to discuss your trivial human conundrums… I'm enraged, my darling Bryn."

They all stared in awe. Sofja had seen some strange things, but as she met Vilkas' gaze, she realized that this was something entirely different.

"However…" Nocturnal said, suddenly smiling. "I have a new deal to offer both you and Freja."

Freja took a few steps forward, skeptical. "What could possibly be better than the deal you already have?"

"Simple," Nocturnal said, chuckling softly. "I want Alduin. And you're all going to get him for me."


	4. Worlds Collide

The League of Dragonborn

 **Chapter 4: Worlds Collide**

 _After a long hiatus, we're baaaaaaaack!_

* * *

 _"I want Alduin, and you're all going to get him for me."_

"Alduin?" Brynjolf asked, his eyebrows furrowing at the daedric prince, who seemed to bask in the shock that was afforded her. "You want..."

Freja scoffed outright, throwing her arms in the air. "The World Eater. The Nordic God of Destruction. The most powerful and fearsome dragon that ever existed... In exchange for our freedom from your servitude, you want... the soul of Alduin?"

The corners of Vilkas' mouth twitched. "Kodlak use to tell me the legend when I was a pup," he said, turning towards Sofja. "They say he was defeated by the ancient nords."

"True, my wolf, true," Nocturnal said seductively, spinning a lock of purple hair around her greyish finger. Sofja gritted her teeth at the way the dark deity spoke. "And, as you must know, dragons have returned to Skyrim. Along with Alduin. If I cannot have my two best thieves serving me in life or in death, then I want something greater than thieves: I want the soul of a dragon-god to serve me for all time."

"But how can we—" Sofja began.

With a flick of her wrist, a weapon suddenly appeared in the center of the room, balanced precariously on a grey stone pedestal. It was a gorgeous sword that seemed to be made from Ebony, yet the hilt was intricately woven with various metals that were punctuated by a glowing purple gem.

"For you, my Freja. Use this weapon to chase Alduin's soul from his body, and when you do... It will be mine for the taking. Have I made myself clear?" Freja nodded, took the weapon into her hand, and suddenly the room went dark.

* * *

They all—Freja, Brynjolf, Sofja, and Vilkas—stood dumbfounded on the cliffs outside of Nightingale Hall, their conversation with Nocturnal finished. No one spoke. It seemed that there was everything to be said, and yet nothing left to say.

Vilkas stood gripping the hilt of his sword as he glared out over the vast, sunlit forest, disconcerted at the thought of consorting a daedric prince in such a manner. Did it all have to be so difficult at every juncture? Nay, at every moment? Sofja stood near to him, her eyes watching him warily, almost able to read the frustration dancing through his thoughts. She wondered, with everything that had happened, how much longer he would have to wait until the beast blood was purged from him. Though things had settled within the Companions, and even the question of her and Vilkas' relationship had been pleasantly answered, Sofja still noticed the unease in her lover's steps, and the strain behind his eyes in certain moments. The wolf was there still, wrestling inside him, roaring to escape. She sighed, turning her gaze towards Brynjolf and Freja, the woman they had come here to find. Biting her lip and squinting her eyes, she took in the sight of her.

She was quite a few inches taller than Sofja, her arms thin, and her build fragile. But peering at her eyes, one could certainly never make the mistake of calling Freja fragile. Her sharp features, piercing eyes, and intelligent expression warned of a cold, harsh person who was as quick with her tongue as with her blade. _A harsh person, but not a person to be dependent upon,_ Freja thought, remembering back to the way she'd seen Brynjolf chug his mead at the Bee and Barb; he was a man obviously suffering from heartbreak. She'd seen it enough in Vilkas all those months ago, before they had resolved to be together, once and for all.

"There's no time to waste," Freja said suddenly, her light eyes scanning over the three others on the cliff next to her. "We must do as Nocturnal commands."

Sofja opened her mouth to speak and Brynjolf scoffed loudly, but it was Vilkas who took the opportunity to speak. "As Nocturnal commands? Are you mad? We have been dragged into this situation for one purpose and one purpose alone, and that is to transport you to the Greybeards."

Freja smirked. "I've already had some training with the Greybeards, almost a year ago now. What else do they need? So there are two Dragonborns... What does it matter?"

It was Sofja's turn to speak. Her blue-green eyes flashed at Freja, and she took a few angry steps forward. "It matters because Skyrim, and maybe the whole of Tamriel, is in danger. Do you think it's a coincidence that two Dovahkiin have mysteriously appeared, close to the same age, when the great legends barely even tell of one?"

Freja shrugged her shoulders, though her mind was buzzing with the truth of the words being thrown at her.

"It's because there is need of two of us," Sofja continued. "It's because our action is the difference between salvation, and this world being razed to the ground. Is there nothing in it you care about, nothing you wish to see saved?"

 _That hurt,_ Freja thought, as her eyes immediately fell on Bryn. He had been right earlier when he said she always ran, even if she always felt she had a reason to do so. But the stubborn little redhead with the full lips and lightly-freckled cheeks was right. It wasn't even just about Bryn... The Guild was her home, too. And perhaps even Riften.

"Fine," she murmured. "But we can't just ignore Nocturnal's deal. And besides, I have a feeling the Greybeards wouldn't shudder to know that we move to defeat Alduin, the World Eater."

Brynjolf nodded. "Aye. Perhaps our paths have converged more than we think," the tall, ginger-haired man said softly, though he directed his words at Sofja.

"So we go to the Greybeards, then," Vilkas said, exhaling with a bit of relief as he did.

"First, to Whiterun," Sofja said quickly, crossing her arms as she turned more fully towards Brynjolf and Freja. "As the Harbinger of the Companions, I'll have to return to make sure things are in order... And besides, Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what we know. His is one of the strongest armies in the hold."

"Harbinger of the Companions, hm? I hadn't expected someone who seemed so young and inexperienced to be the leader of such a group." Freja said, eyeing the woman before her with new care. The Companions might prove useful in the struggle to come.

Sofja closed the space between them until they stood only a foot or two away from one another. "And I hadn't expected the other Dragonborn to seem so spineless, and to run from responsibility so easily."

With those words, Freja almost bared her teeth with animal rage, and gripped her dagger. Brynjolf and Vilkas both jumped in, with Brynjolf swiftly offering calming words. "Enough. You and Vilkas go on ahead... Freja and I have much to discuss. There is no time to quarrel amongst ourselves, or else we lose before we begin to fight."

A curt nod, and Sofja and Vilkas were on their way. Freja and Brynjolf were alone again, standing beneath the trees that swayed with thick, green leaves. Sunlight glimmered through the branches, shooting patterns on the ground.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Brynjolf asked. Surely the fact that Freja had promised Nocturnal Brynjolf's and her own servitude to the daedric prince for a lifetime was problematic, yet he couldn't understand why she hadn't been honest. "What would a lifetime of servitude even mean?"

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath. "After everything we'd been through... I was afraid. Afraid to tell you that it wasn't over. That I'd done something perhaps I couldn't take back. And I'm not sure what it would have meant, but I wasn't willing to find out. Perhaps we would've had to abandon the Guild and live only as Nightingales, acting for Nocturnal's glory. Perhaps nothing would have changed, I don't know..."

Brynjolf moved towards her gently, letting his fingers rest on the sides of her neck. "Freja," he whispered carefully. Their eyes met. He wanted to hold her, to reassure her, and to slap her all at once. In her best moments, she was one of the most caring, determined people he'd ever known. In her worst, she was a selfish, impudent young woman, too fiery for her own good. "No more lies. We will defeat Alduin, we will break ourselves from Nocturnal's bondage, and we will free Tamriel from the dragon threat."

Staring into Brynjolf's warm eyes, Freja felt relief in his reassurances. Letting her arms lace around his neck, she leaned up to kiss him. She was shocked when he turned his face away from her. She opened her mouth to speak, but he shrugged out from under her touch, taking a few steps back. "No..." He murmured shortly. "I... I can't. Not now." He cleared his throat. "We better go, before they get too far ahead. Whiterun awaits."

"Brynjolf," she said carefully, "come on, I-"

"No," he said again. "You so often choose the easy thing over the right thing. I will be here to support you, as well as to help free us both from Nocturnal, but that's all I can promise you right now."

Freja felt as if someone had stabbed her. She knew Brynjolf would be angry, but she hadn't expected him to turn away from her. She looked away from him and nodded wordlessly, wondering if his rejection would last the day, or if it would last forever.

* * *

It was nightfall when they reached Jorrvaskr. Sofja was beyond relieved; it'd been a long journey, and Jorrvaskr had been her home for many months now. She hugged Farkas tightly, and gave a knowing nod to Aela.

"I'd like you to meet Brynjolf, an important contact in the Thieves Guild and an honorable fighter, from what I've seen so far," she smiled gently as Brynjolf bent his head in greeting to the other members of the Circle. She never expected to say the words 'thief' and 'honorable' in the same sentence, and yet when it came to Brynjolf, it seemed true enough. Farkas nodded back with respect. Aela eyed the tall redheaded man, her gaze curving over every inch of him as she licked her lips. Sofja nearly died of embarrassment.

Vilkas cleared his throat. "And this is Freja, the second Dragonborn. She—" He began, when Freja cut in, her light eyes burning into Aela.

"Not second," she said softly.

Aela chuckled. She wouldn't have liked to be called second either. "Welcome to Jorrvaskr. There's beds, food and mead for anyone brave enough to take on this dragon threat."

Farkas nodded. "Good to have you here." His words were barely more audible than a grunt.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Sofja said, trying to imagine what Kodlak would've said in this particular moment. "The Circle and I must have a meeting to discuss a few things." Brynjolf and Freja nodded, and were quickly escorted down to the lower quarters to find a place to stay and something to fill their bellies.

"To the Underforge?" Aela asked quickly. In these last weeks and months since the passing of Kodlak and the elevation of Sofja to Harbinger, it seemed as though the Companions were stronger than ever, and that included Aela. Where she was once cunning and calculating, she had grown to become a truly important part of the Circle.

"It's not necessary," Sofja sighed, her tone grave. "I only wanted to make you all aware that Vilkas and I will not be staying long. We must travel to the Greybeards, and from there, our path is unclear. In the meantime, I leave you, Aela and Farkas, in charge. You will guide the Companions jointly, sharing the power of Harbinger."

Farkas stood stone-faced. If Sofja didn't know better, she would've guessed he hadn't heard at all. She was only reassured when Aela loudly scoffed. "You want me to share such a responsibility with _him?_ He couldn't spell his own name if you gave him the letters...in order."

"That wasn't a request," Vilkas said angrily. The expression on Aela's face revealed that she wanted to say more, but that now wouldn't be the time. "Of course, Harbinger," said again, nodding at Sofja, although sometimes it seemed as if the Companions were led just as much by Vilkas as by Sofja.

The four of them, the last four of the Circle, spoke on other matters quietly, and when they were finished, Vilkas walked into the yard out back to catch some air. It was dusk, and a chill filled the air. He saw Freja sitting on the steps ahead of him leading down into the yard. He'd only met her hours earlier, but he sensed a deep melancholy in her.

"Ever been to Whiterun?" He asked quietly, sitting down next to her.

"Once or twice," Freja said with little enthusiasm.

"It's a good city," he continued, unsure of why he sat next to her in the first place. "In fact—"

"I can't do this," she said quietly.

Vilkas' eyes narrowed at her. He hardly knew what to say. The blonde, intimidating woman next to him was nothing more than a stranger.

"I have the soul of a dragon they say, but if I had a choice, I'd rip the beast out of me and be done with it. I wasn't made to be a savior. Not like your precious girl in there," Freja murmured, nodding back towards Jorrvaskr, referencing Sofja.

Vilkas sat another few seconds in silence. "Believe it or not, I know what it's like to have a beast inside of you, one that forces you to be something other than what you think you are..."

"You mean the whole wolf thing, right?" Freja said flatly. Their eyes met, and Vilkas chuckled heartily.

"You've heard?"

"It's not as big of a secret throughout Skyrim as you might think," she said, laughing back softly.

"It's true, you have been given this gift, and it means you have a responsibility..." Vilkas began. "But you aren't alone, not if you don't want to be. Just come with us to the Greybeards. See what they have to say, that's all we ask. Deal?"

She eyed the dark haired man warily. She didn't necessarily like him, but he possessed an honesty that she found refreshing. Sighing, Freja knew that after this moment, there was no turning back. No more running, no more shutting others out, no more hiding from responsibility.

"Deal."


	5. Delphine

The League of Dragonborn

 **Chapter 5: Delphine**

 _I'm back, I'm ready to continue this story, and to make it one of my best yet._

* * *

In the small hours of the morning, the foursome made their way to Ivarstead to climb the 7,000 steps. While Freja didn't outwardly seem to appreciate the gravity of the honor (especially since she'd climbed the steps and met with the Greybeards on her own a year earlier), her three companions were awed by the journey. What actually spanned mere hours seemed like a lifetime, and they stopped at various points to rest, to give fight to the trolls and snow wolves they encountered, and to look out upon the world below from their snow-covered perch.

As the sun rose high in the sky, Freja, Sofja, Bryn, and Vilkas laid eyes upon High Hrothgar, in all its gray, imposing, stony glory. Approaching the entrance doors, Sofja was surprised to see them open before her. A hooded man with a scraggly, gray beard opened his arms to them, a warm, gentle expression playing on his face. "Finally," he murmured, his voice rough like orichalcum stone. "Welcome to High Hrothgar."

Their footsteps echoed loudly in the cold, stone hallways of the castle, and neither Vilkas nor Brynjolf made a peep. They'd both heard stories growing up of the Greybeards — the reclusive men who studied the 'way of the voice' high up on the Throat of the World. Never had either of them imagined they'd see it all with their own eyes — or that the women they loved respectively would be the reason for their journey. _Two Dragonborns_.

Behind the hooded man, Freja walked, with Sofja trailing slightly behind her, until they came upon a larger room where more men in more hoods stood patiently. Vilkas and Brynjolf looked at each other warily.

"Okay, is someone going to tell us what's going on?" Freja asked. Sofja gritted her teeth at her impertinence; _this whole two Dragonborns thing going to take some getting used to,_ she thought with irritation.

Finally, their guide spoke. "We are honored to have both our Dovahkiin present. I am Master Arngeir," the man said quietly, his eyes bright and crinkling at the edges, revealing his age. "It is of utmost importance—"

Freja stepped forward, ready to interrupt again, but this time, Sofja grabbed her forearm, shooting her a warning look that said _keep your mouth shut._ Freja didn't feel threatened by the short, redheaded nobody, but she did wonder if maybe her quick wit had started getting the best of her lately. While she had been under so much pressure — leaving Bryn to face Nocturnal, facing the possibility of having to be some hero of Nord legend — even she recognized the seriousness of the moment. Freja nodded and looked back at Arngeir. "Thank you for allowing us to come. We…are eager to understand the circumstances of our situation. Of…" She looked back at Sofja, then at Arngeir. "This. Of there being two of us."

Arngeir nodded knowingly. "It is almost as unlikely as dragons returning from the grave… And yet, this is the reality laid out before us. The tomes of old say precious little about the Dovahkiin except that he or she would live to protect us as long as dragons fly. No mention of their race, their origin, their sex… In the old tongue, the word _Dovahkiin_ itself can even be singular or plural, in fact."

Sofja nodded, though her eyebrows knitted together with concern. "Surely, Master Arngeir, there's more to it than that." She felt uncomfortable in the center of the room. Though Freja stood by her side, the other Greybeards stood in a line behind him, hardly moving or breathing, their hands folded in front of them. Glancing behind, Sofja took comfort as she saw Brynjolf and Vilkas watching the scene unfold with caution.

"My dear," Arngeir said carefully, "all we can guarantee is that if the fates have provided us two Dovahkiin at this crucial time, then the world is woefully unbalanced, and both of you are needed."

Freja nodded. "So why have you called us here, Masters?"

Arngeir smiled. "To train… And to receive instructions on a mission of utmost importance.

* * *

In a few hours, Sofja and Freja had received lessons on shouting, practicing over and over again until their throats were sore and their bodies ached from the shouts, which rocked their muscles and shook their bones. Though Brynjolf and Vilkas were the trusted companions of the two Dovahkiin, the Greybeards relegated them to a nearby dining hall, disallowing them from witnessing the training Sofja and Freja were receiving. Vilkas was livid, itching to do something—anything—until one of the masters entered the room. Vilkas elbowed Brynjolf, who had somehow managed to doze off on the cold, stone floor. "Master Arngeir requests your presence," the man whispered.

The men were led to a conference room, at the center of which was a massive stone table covered in fineries usually reserved for jarls. Freja and Sofja sat at one end, flanked by other Greybeards. Brynjolf noticed Freja looked more tired than he'd ever seen her.

"It is time to inform you of the next step," Arngeir said gently, looking from the men to the women seated near to him at the table. "We have contacted an associate of ours who is…interested in aiding you in your journey. We task you with seeking out Delphine, the owner of the Sleeping Giant Inn, in Riverwood."

At this, Freja had to scoff. "You want us to find some barkeep? What does she have to do with the dragons?"

Arngeir simply waved her off. "She is much more than appearances might betray. Much like you, my child. Now, it is time for you to be on your way." With that, the Greybeards stood and exited the room, leaving Sofja, Freja, and their male companions standing dumbly in silence. When the Greybeards were finished, there was no questioning it.

* * *

The foursome made their way back down to Ivarstead, opting to rent two rooms at the local inn there than to travel straight to Riverwood or even Whiterun to speak with Jarl Balgruuf. The women were tired from their training, and after the day they'd all had, it seemed mutually agreed upon that they would all lose themselves in a pint of ale that night.

Sofja sat on the lumpy inn's bed, changed into a tunic and leggings, her fiery hair spilling out of her braid. Nothing had gone the way she'd planned. She thought she'd see the Greybeards alone, and _then_ go to Riften. Yet as soon as she'd made the decision, couriers poured in from the southeastern holds begging for aid from the Jarl and from the Companions, and they'd gone to Riften. Now, Sofja barely had time to attend to the Companions, and she would be off running to Riverwood, and then Nine only knew where after that.

Vilkas sat down next to her, jolting her out of her thoughts. "Love, you seem troubled," he murmured, his voice husky. Sofja shot him a sideways glance. There was fire behind his eyes.

"Only slightly more than usual," she grinned.

Vilkas leaned towards her, his lips dancing over her ear. "Let me ease your mind," he whispered.

Sofja stood up quickly and headed for the door of their room, and for a moment, Vilkas deflated in disappointment. He had missed his young lover, and between the adventures of recent months, coupled with what was to come, he longed to feel her.

Yet looking up at her, he watched as she gingerly shut the beaten, wooden door to their room, ensuring their privacy. "There's something other than my mind that needs easing," she growled. In three strides, she was back to the bed, sitting on Vilkas' lap, her mouth overtaking his fiercely.

* * *

While Vilkas and Sofja fanned the flames of their passion, Freja and Brynjolf sat in front of the fire in the main room of the inn, the distance between them colder than ever.

Freja dared to steal a glance over at her Bryn, who himself stared without expression into the fire.

"How's Vex?" She murmured, desperate to connect with him in some way, though unable to find a way forward. Bryn turned his eyes towards Freja, eyeing her skeptically, before speaking.

"She's well," he began, a smile twitching at his lips. "Back in Delvin's bed — again. She's been widening her net, traveling more to hit better scores. Went as far as Windhelm, last I heard." He paused, taking a breath. "She was mad as hell when you'd gone, lass. Delvin, too."

Freja's chest tightened, half-ashamed at the realization that she'd left more than Brynjolf behind, who she assumed could handle it, and half-pleased that they cared for her enough to lament her absence. "I miss them both. I miss them all… Even Tonilia." At this, neither one could keep from laughing.

Catching each other's eyes, Brynjolf sighed, his fingertips running delicately over his face. "When this is over, I plan on having a guild to go back to. And despite our…circumstances," Brynjolf cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of their soured romance, "you're one of our best. The guild needs you."

Freja nodded, staring back into the flames. In that moment, she was resolved: resolved to stop running, to fight the dragons head on, to get back to the only group of people who had ever loved her, and to win Brynjolf back, once and for all.


End file.
